God and I

A most amazing thing happened yesterday, a woman who reads this work in her home in Europe asked me to tell her how I talk to God.
 
This is amazing to me because I have been God's One True Telepath for some 33 years, and the American people have done nothing but torture and mock me throughout all that time; and not one American, not one American, not one American has asked me a single question about my relationship with my old pal God.
 
Even the fact that I am the only audible mental telepath in the history of the human race has not turned over one pebble curiosity in any American mind, no question of how or why this telepathy should have suddenly appeared; and other than my telepathy giving the American people a rope with which to lynch me, no importance to at all can be seen by the Americans.
 
That, however, is another subject; the woman asked how I talk to God.
 
The first thing is:  I always talk to God standing up; I rarely pray but I always work at the work God gave me to do; and I never let any but God tell me about God.  Things I learned about God in church and Catholic school as a child I ask God about, and far more often than not God asks me to flush that corrupted knowledge out of my mind.
 
But that still does not answer the woman's question, because she too wants to talk to God and she is concerned about the future of her soul.
 
A remarkable thing about this woman is that she is in exactly the same horrible situation my beloved mother was placed in by the Roman Catholic Church.  Like my mother, she is Catholic and divorced and remarried and has a child from the second union, and because of that she is told by the Roman Catholic Church her soul is damned.
 
Her daughter, like my beloved sister, is therefore a bastard child born of a sinful union, and either the first husband, the new husband, or the mother, and perhaps all, is absolutely bound for eternal damnation because of the divorce and the subsequent union.
 
In my mother's case the priests presented a bizarre loophole in this church-made law of God, that being that the one who died second would then be widowed and could confess the sin of adultery to an allegedly celibate priest and be saved.
 
One of the great sins of the Roman Catholic Church for over one thousand years is that it has created endless laws and rules of God of which God has no part of.  God is vast; God is not petty; God does not snoop; and God has greater things to do than to cast into eternal torment women whose marriages do not work out.
 
But this very nice European woman asked how I talk to God, and slowly I am getting there.
 
I think it is worth mentioning that about the time God gave me the gift of audible mental telepathy and sent me out among the Christian-Jewish wolves I went through a period when I reverted to my Catholic schoolboy understanding of God; and it was God who pulled me out of it, telling me to talk to God like a man and roll up my sleeves and pick up my cross.
 
Although every priest and preacher west and east of the Mississippi would likely take exception to my saying this, I am about the most Christian Christian you are going to run into; and yet I have not said The Lord's Prayer since perhaps 1975; but further there has not been an hour since months before I was born in 1939 when I did not talk to God and God did not talk to me.
 
I suggest to you it is the same with you, although it is so natural and so normal you are not aware it is going on; and I would suggest a great difficulty God faces when talking to you is getting past the programming and rules and concepts you were taught.  I am not saying anything radical here; this is the concept upon which the Protestant Reformation was based.
 
Every once in a while God tells me something God particularly likes about me, and that always gives me insight to the naturalness of the human relationship with God.
 
A couple years ago the Americans had tortured me (yet again) to the brink of death.  It was the policy of murder by attrition that followed the stealth arrival of this faux-president. I was reduced by this torture to homelessness and helplessness and had no place to go, and those many American "friends" I had helped in many ways would look at me dying before their eyes as if it meant nothing at all.  During this period I once I asked myself in despair, "Why can't I die?  Why won't this body quit?"
 
And God started saying, "Stay alive, Virgil, stay alive," and started reminding me how I had taken my telepathy to Paris and to Rome and to Jerusalem and to Delhi and to Bangkok, and to Singapore (where America harassed me into prison) after God had given that telepathy to me; in short how I had rolled up my sleeves and gone to work when God asked me to; and God reminded me God admires me for having done that.
 
The key word here is "admire", and you might do well to consider that God might admire you, too.
 
But I am not being clear, pain muddies the brain, and I don't know if this review is of any value to that woman in Europe, or to you, Dear Reader.  The question she asked was, How do I talk to God?, so I will take another run at the answer.
 
I talk to God as if God is my friend, not some almighty monster I have come upon in the wilderness who threatens me in fierce irrationality; and I talk to God as if God is intelligent and wise and knows what's up; and frankly I talk to God as if God knows what life is all about; and always, always, I talk to God as if God knows me by my first name, and as if I know God by God's first name, too.
 
When it comes to Christian priests and preachers, I have learned to take them with a whole bag of salt, and I figure if they cannot raise the dead they have no business telling me who Jesus was.  I follow the Master, not the alleged licensed representatives; and if I have a question I ask God the question, and if I always receive an answer even though the answer might be slow in coming.
 
God likes that I do this.